


Bloom

by Exstarsis



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fran uses sign language, Not much plot, Rare Pairings, Smut, Sweet, did I mention sweet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exstarsis/pseuds/Exstarsis
Summary: Arash and Fran have been working together for a long time. Recently he's started seeing past the facade she put up, and it's making him have feelings.
Relationships: Arash | Archer / Frankenstein's Monster | Berserker of Black
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> This is what you get when I farm a lot in FGO.

Arash and Fran had been a farming team for months, dealing with the endless streams of low-strength pests that worried at Chaldea’s logistical base. They, along with a few others, were good at it: good at working together, and good at getting the job done. For a long time, that was all they were. Comrades. Partners—and ones that barely talked most days. Arash was a quiet sort, and even after he taught her a form of sign language, Fran could only communicate with people who paid attention to her, and she rarely tried to get that attention.

In a distant, unobtrusive way, Arash tried to keep an eye on his younger and less experienced comrades. He could sense the suppressed rage in Fran. He watched how she loved flowers, and how awkward she was in her wedding-like dress. He saw how she hated to get it dirty, and how she sat alone when Mordred or Osakabeihime weren’t around. He tried to be friendly and kind to her, of course, but he didn’t want to impose. He was Arash, after all.

Then one day, in a meadow far from Chaldea, he watched her reach toward the sun, stretching her frame upwards, and all at once he saw her as a woman rather than a child playing dress-up. He saw more: how she hunched her shoulders when she realized she wasn’t alone. How she scowled at him for looking. He guessed from how she moved that she was ashamed of her body, of being tall and artificial, at least compared to so many of the other women Servants. She hardly came to _his_ shoulder. Soon, seeing her hunched shoulders bothered him more and more.

Without quite making a conscious decision, he started to think about her more and more. He told himself he wanted to help her if he could. But he didn’t want to rush, and he didn’t want to scare her, so instead acting, he watched her more. He daydreamed about finding her one moonlit night when she was calm and relaxed, when he could tell her about the beauty saw hiding in her—but hopes like that are destined to be forever unfulfilled.

Instead he encountered her one day in Chaldea at her worst, moody and angry without clear cause. She roared at him when he got in her way. He looked her over, up and down, and noticed how she curled in on herself in response. “Fran, can I help?”

She roared again, but this time, she was frightened instead of angry. When he only shook his head, smiling, she signed, “Go away!” frantically.

He laughed in his self-deprecating way. “Well, I can’t do that because if I do, you’ll keep being miserable.”

She signed, “You can’t fix that.”

“Why not?”

“Go away!”

He hesitated, his mind racing. Then he said, “All right. But Fran? I _can_ help.”

He retreated to meditate in his favorite spot in the conservatory, but Fran found him again an hour later, her eyes still blazing. “How can you help?” she signed furiously. “You don’t even know what’s wrong.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled up at her.”Won’t you sit down?”

She stared at him, and then did after a moment, her white skirt flaring around her like a flower as she flumped down in front of him. Her fingers twirled. “Well?”

“You’re dreaming of someone, yeah?”

Her eyes, which had softened with curiosity, instantly hardened again. He held up his hands hurriedly. “You don’t have to tell me who! It’s your secret.”

“Then why did you bring it up?” Fran’s hands moved forcefully.

Once again Arash’s eyes crinkled. “Because you’re growing. Reaching for the sun.”

“Hah!” Her mouth twisted. “I’m a monster. An _artificial_ monster.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

Her head jerked like he’d slapped her and she folded in on herself, her hands moving in tight, tense words. “Don’t say that. You’re nice… don’t say that.”

“Why not?” 

Very slowly, her head down, she signed, “Because the only boys who say that are the ones who want to hurt me.”

A rare flash of rage clenched Arash’s fists, but he breathed and let it pass away. “I want to help you.”

“How?” she demanded. “What could you possibly do?”

He closed one eye, looking at her critically as he rose to his knees. “Straighten your back,” he ordered, in a commander’s voice.

She obeyed unthinkingly at first, and then caught herself, hunched inward again. He put his hands on her shoulders, pushing gently. “Straighten your back,” he said again, softly this time. “It’ll change everything.”

Slowly, she did so, her eyes wide.

His hands still on her shoulders, he smiled down at her. “Now lift your head.”

With blind trust of hundreds of battles together, she did so. 

That was when he kissed her. 

Shock held her still at first, and he knew even as he brushed his lips over hers that he was risking their teamwork, their unsteady friendship, and perhaps much more on this one moment. So he was gentle and light, and he pulled away before shock released her. 

“I can help,” he told her, and stood up. “I’m going to go walk around the garden now. If you want to talk about this more, I’ll be right over there in a little bit.” He waved at a wall of wisteria before turning and wandering off into the fruit trees.

* * *

Fran sat on the ground, her shoulders straight but trembling, as the tall figure of Arash passed out of sight.

_This was so stupid!_

But she knew that while Arash was quiet and smiled a lot, he was anything but stupid. He watched everything and he was always in position when he was needed, ready to do whatever was asked.

_She hadn’t asked for this!_ Where did he get off, telling her he could help her and then kissing her like that? Like… like… like she was some wench in a tavern somewhere! 

_Like she was a real girl._

The knot that had been in Fran’s stomach ever since he’d stopped her in the corridor intensified. She didn’t like this at all. Why _why_ would he kiss her?

_His mouth had been so gentle and soft against her own._ And then he’d stood up and walked away.

It was a trick, a game of some sort. It was always a game. People thought that because she wasn’t a real girl, she didn’t have a heart to break. And all she could do was try her best to show them they were right when they hurt her, and then channel it all into rage later.

But this was Arash, and he didn’t play games like that.

Fran drew her knees to her chest and curled around them, rocking back and forth as she thought wildly. But no matter how she twisted and turned her thoughts, it came down to an unsolvable mystery: This was _Arash_ , who was never cruel.

And yet he’d declared he could help her, and he’d kissed her. He hadn’t even seemed to notice her horn!

She had too many questions, so when she lifted her head from her arms and saw him standing looking at the wisteria, his back to her, she rose to her feet. Her tread heavy and ominous, she stalked over to him. When he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling, she almost tripped over her own feet at a sudden rush of giddiness. Of hope. Of _want_.

Scowling, she pulled herself together again and glared up at him. 

“They smell nice, don’t they?” he said. “Flowers lose their scent so quickly after they’re plucked. I’m glad these are allowed to live.”

She saw that for the calculated attempt to relax her that it was, and heroically resisted, clinging to her questions and frustration. Her hands flew as she signed, “What does kissing me have to do with helping me be less miserable?”

He cocked his head, his dark hair flopping close to his eyes. “You’re always trying to make yourself look smaller than you are. Like a child. But you’re not a child, are you?”

Slowly Fran shook her head, and then made an impatient gesture for him to go on. 

“Well, I want to kiss the Fran who doesn’t hide. Who reaches for the sky with her own two hands.”

She made a noise and stomped her foot. “But why? Is this some self-sacrifice move? I don’t want that kind of help!”

He laughed in her face at that. “Hardly!” Putting his hand behind his head, he said, “These things don’t have easy answers, you know. I saw you stretching the other day and something clicked. I thought—” He caught himself. “Well, you don’t want me to say that, but in essence, I thought that I wanted to kiss you. And do other things, too,” he added, just a hint of… was it a challenge in his eyes?

“And then I kept watching you and I started thinking maybe you’d be happier if everybody could see what I’d seen. You’re not small, you’re not little, you’re not a child. You’re tall and strong and lovely—”

Frantically, she covered his mouth with her hands. Then, as she felt his smile against her palms, she slid her hands apart and threaded her fingers through his thick hair. His own hands settled on her hips, but before he could do anything more, she stood on her tip-toes, the blasted tall man that he was, and kissed him back.

He lowered his head, his lips moving against hers, his hair tickling her horn. The sweet scent of the wisteria mingled with his own scent of figs and oak.Then he lifted his head, just a little. “Can I walk you to your room? We can talk about this more there, if you like.”

Fran squeezed her eyes tight and nodded, although she was afraid of where her own thoughts would take her on the walk. He’d been warm and kind and far better than she deserved—

His knuckle chucked her under her chin. “If you want to walk like that, I’ll have to hold your hand the whole way there.”

Her eyes sprang open, and she met his own as they crinkled. She understood. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. She twisted her hands in her skirt so she couldn’t accidentally blurt out her thoughts. But she did want him to walk her to her room, did want to ‘talk’ with him more, so maybe—

His smile faded. Though she’d hidden her hands from him, he seemed to read her thoughts as he said, “Ah, but we don’t have that kind of relationship, do we? Well, no help for it.” Then before she could protest, he’d swung her up and over his shoulder, once again heedless of her horn. She turned her head before it could poke his back, and squealed indignantly.

He patted her thighs. “You looked a little lost. I’m just getting you home safely.” As he set off out of the conservatory, she reached up and pulled his hair in response, but not hard. He endured it without complaint, as she knew he would.

As he carried her like a sack of potatoes down the corridors of Chaldea, they passed more than a few staff and Servants. Fran crossed her arms and looked off into the distance, far more aware of her dignity than she would have been if they’d walked side by side. There was simply no chance for her to brood on her own shortcomings and fears when Arash was behaving so outrageously—and the way he smiled and greeted those they passed with a cheery wave made it even worse.

When he finally set her down outside her door, she glared furiously up at him, twisted her hand in his shirt, elbowed her door open, and hauled him in with her. Then, her hand against his chest, she signed, “You want to help?” When he nodded, she added, “Kiss me properly,” and gave him a look burning with challenge and defiance.

In the dim light of her room, his eyes seemed to glitter. “Not here,” he murmured. As her heart fell, he gave her a little push. “Over there.”

_Over there_. Where her rarely-used bed was.

That, more than anything else, drove home how serious he was. She lowered her gaze, staring at his chest, even as her bolts vented a hiss of steam. She could feel the muscles under the cloth. Prometheus knew she’d seen them enough. Practically all the male Servants had been shirtless at times and they all had extremely attractive musculature. This was… the first time she’d been offered a chance to touch it. The first time she’d been seen as anything other than a toy, a weapon, or a problem.

His handling of her on the way to the room had kept panic away, but now it burst into full-flower. She yanked her hand away and went to stumble backward, but he caught her wrist with a grip like steel. She flailed, striking at him, and he caught her other wrist. “Fran, Fran, _Fran!”_

The voice of her comrade, her partner in the field, got through her fear enough that she stopped lashing out. Wild-eyed, she stared up at him.

“Fran,” he said again, quietly. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want, and I’m not going to let you hurt me, but I do want you to know how serious I am.”

Her thoughts seemed spellbound by the softness of his voice. She nodded, almost blankly. 

His hands loosened on her wrists. “Do you still want me to kiss you more?”

A thought flickered, a unbound surge of fear and self-hatred. His dark eyes remained fixed on her own. She ignored the thought, and nodded again.

At that, he released her wrists, pulled her to him, and kissed her hungrily.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss at all. It was the sort of kiss that would make Osakabeihime, who was responsible for most of Fran’s knowledge of sex, shout, “Woohoo!” while watching. And that was before Arash’s tongue moved into her mouth. 

Oh God! She’d never even thought of this before! She couldn’t _talk_ properly with her mouth; would she be able to kiss? Would he—

But he made little encouraging noises as she clumsily responded to him, and his big hands stroked down her arms. One of his hands pressed against her own, palm to palm, and her fingers twitched almost unconsciously, telling him of her anxiety and needs.

Their mouths remained fused together for a long time before he started exploring further, moving down to her neck, her ear, her collarbone, carefully skirting the edge of her metal components in a way she felt grateful for. His teeth grazed the skin of her shoulder and his tongue traced the line of it before he murmured, “So much better when you’re not folding yourself up.”

Then he went back to kissing her. With the hand that wasn’t listening to her fingers, he cupped her hip and then slid up to find the little round buttons of her dress along her spine. He started from the bottom, and the delicate brush of his fingers over her spine as the fabric parted made shivers run from Fran’s breasts to her knees. When he reached the top button, the one around her collar, he paused again, lifting his head so he could meet her eyes.

“Sweet Fran. Do you want me to stop?” A hard heat brightened his dark eyes, and kissing her had swollen his lips. His fingers at the top of her spine drew little circles, an impatient hunger in every line of his body. Giddy with excitement, she lifted the hand she’d had curled against his chest this while and undid the final button herself.

As the dress slithered down her hips, she stepped out of her shoes as well, and stood before him breathlessly, wearing nothing but her stockings. 

He looked at her a moment, still keeping one palm to hers. He almost said something, stopped himself, and then, with a wry grin, said, “I like you, Fran. I like what I see, and how you feel.”

She signed against his palm, “Take off your shirt.”

Arash ducked his head, a laugh in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and did so. Then he caught her hand again and pulled her over to the bed. “Just so we’re comfortable, you know.” Then his expression became serious. “Don’t let me go farther than you want, Fran. That won’t help at all.”

Her heart hammering in her chest, Fran made an annoyed sound and scooted onto the bed. When he’d removed his shirt, she’d lost a useful way to pull him closer. But he followed her anyhow, kissing her again and pressing her back into the pillows. 

Once he’d kissed her enough to re-establish to her most doubting thoughts that he did enjoy kissing her even with her naked body beside him, he began to explore with his hands and mouth: drawing his fingers over her small nipples until they hardened into pebbles, kissing the valley between her breasts, finding where she was ticklish along her belly. She made more sounds, but somehow they made sense here: _Yes, do that; no, stop, that tickles! Oh my God, more,_ and a breathless keen even she didn’t understand when he kissed between her legs and made her spine arch.

She wanted to touch him like he touched her, make him feel nice like he was making her feel nice, but each time she tried, he did something that scattered her thoughts and stilled her hands. Unable to control herself, she seized and bit his wrist, sharp enough that he grunted. But instead of making him angry, he rose from below and kissed her hard, settling his weight on her and nudging her legs apart.

Still almost frantic at the heat in her body and what he’d been doing, she squirmed against him, until she felt the hardness in the trousers he still wore nudging at her center. He rocked as he licked inside her mouth with a desperate hunger that seemed to reflect her own hot need. Slowly the addictive pleasure of his movement mounted until it plateaued at a point just below satisfaction when his rocking stilled.

“Fran,” he said, his voice strained. “I want to be inside you. I want those long legs wrapped around me. If you don’t want—”

She interrupted him by reaching between them and unfastening his pants. He shoved himself away from her to remove them, and she got a good look at his tousled dark hair and dazed eyes. She giggled unexpectedly, delighted that somehow _she_ , Fran, which was short for —, _she_ had that effect on the great hero Arash.

Then he was on her again, once again kissing her like his life depended on it, and the heat that had ebbed surged once again. She barely noticed as he positioned himself, until his shaft was nudging against her entrance. Then the strange deliciousness of the sensation drew her attention away from kissing him. She concentrated on the new feeling: a tickling kind of stretching that filled her with a bright sense of anticipation.

“You’re very wet,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll go slow. This shouldn’t hurt. Let me know if it does.” She made a noise of assent. And gradually, something thick and hot slid into her. It felt at its deepest point like it brushed a button that sent a shower of sparks spiraling behind Fran’s eyes. 

She moaned and Arash stilled over her. “Fran?”

Eagerly she jerked her hips. When he said, “Guh!” in response, and she felt the muscles on his arms stand out, she did it again. He gritted out, “Fran!” and she wrapped her legs around him, signing, “More, more, more!” into his shoulders.

That did it. He collapsed his full weight on her, his pelvis moving in almost machine-like thrusts. A surging, crashing tide of pleasure rolled over Fran, deeper and thicker and stronger with each of Arash’s jerks. Once again she keened with pleasure, until she ran out of noise and could only clutch at him as her entire body seemed to short circuit. She felt like she was floating on light with Arash still in her arms.

Slowly she came back to herself, aware that Arash was yet lying still and sated atop her. Her fingers moved against his shoulder. He gave a grunt as he rolled off her and sat up and then, to her surprise, gathered her back in his arms again, his chest to her back.

She signed, “Is this really what you meant by helping me?”

With a chuckle, he said, “Ah, well. I hadn’t thought too much about the details. No use tormenting myself, right?” His mouth brushed her head, just behind one of her bolts. “I want to give you a reason to stand up straight. Hold up that stubborn chin. Let everybody see who you really are. Even if that means some other man will take you away eventually.” He hesitated. “I know you don’t like hearing it, but you _are_ beautiful, Fran. When you lift your head, you shine.”

Fran twisted her head to look up at him. Then she settled back against his chest again, and signed, “When you say it, I don’t mind.”


End file.
